Michael Gracie 

From a bridge twenty feet above the water, I shout directions down to cohort Will Rice as he targets the beast…

“Thirty feet, 10 o’ clock. Strip. Let it sit. Okay, strip.”

The fish eats. After that, you count your blessings if your fly rod survives.

These elusive gamefish haunting our urban waters already reject flies regardless of perfect presentation. Picking and choosing – you know, deep in your own gut, they are formulating an opinion on whether to consume your offering. It’s methodical.

More frightening, however, they’ve now developed a peculiar habit of turning directly towards the rod on hookset, opening their mouths and rolling into the pressure. It looked innocent enough when I first saw it happen – a simple flight reaction – and I wrote it off as bad luck. Now I’ve talked to others who carp, and they’ve seen the same recently.

During yesterday afternoon’s outing, I was asked whether I thought it was good or bad that more fly fishers were paying attention to South Platte carp. My immediate reply was to the positive. Attention directed at the inhabitants of the waterway should beget attention to the river itself. All good.

We also laughed off the idea that these fish were rejecting more flies than they had in years prior – the consensus was there were just too many fish in the river to have covered them all – but I’m beginning to wonder. Scholars have noted these creatures possess an uncanny ability to sense danger, and somehow communicate it to their brethren.

Are they exhibiting learning behaviors: how to avoid, and evade, capture? Somehow relaying that information to their fellow fish? And committing it to memory?

MG signing off (as I’m the one who’s now spooked)

To make a long story short, I’ve been on a dry fly binge. As a result, I’ve been catching a lot of small fish, and this last weekend was no different. Armed with a noodle in weight forward four I tagged a lot of fish, but I’d be hard pressed to say anything broke the 12-inch mark. I’m plenty satisfied, but the news has caused significant consternation amongst others and I’m losing friends (who regularly peg beads and throw barrel-eyed bunny strip).

I’ve even been told to cut the crap…

Trout geeks like to say that, “it’s not fishing unless you’re losing flies.”

But in the capr realm, “it’s not fishing unless you’re breaking rods.”

Now quit harassing those ghey ‘lil trout, dump those silly #20 comparaduns, put “Master of Puppets” on 11 and git out there and break some shit…

-B

I leave it to the outsiders’ imagination who “B” is, but let’s just say he always wins. The rest of you probably have a clue already.

While discussing the prior weekend’s events I noted that I now find multiple fly rigs somewhat inefficient, particularly when casting to trout on the inspect and reject curriculum, and that I was swearing them off for a while. One participant in the talk replied that it was a worthy experiment I was about to embark on, then mumbled something about a psychiatrist friend “I just had to meet”. I only got halfway through describing my thoughts to another when they simply hung up.

Anywho…

I decide to go chase some golden bonefish stinkwater redfish sewer trout this afternoon because carp are about to intrude on my sentient being like out-of-town fly-fishing guides intrude on my sofa. I have to dust off the six-weight despite all the delicate, small stream juju I’ve built up. Jim “Masked Avenger” Kanda and I saw a lot of action, and wound up pleased with ourselves despite the fact we didn’t bring any slimy critters to hand.

Then I drop by the post office and find a care package has been delivered from Sacramento, CA, land of busted budgets and fancy fly-tying scissors. I was immediately jazzed about Keith Barton‘s latest invention, but it was the dubbing that really got to me.

It takes a true nutcase to get wound up about dubbing, but not only did this particular material look oh so fine, one of the colors was olive! For what odd reason I didn’t have any olive only Einstein and the Dalai Lama could figure, but just the other day I went digging for some and couldn’t find any.

I was told point blank that some dubbing expert from Minnesota might be quite jealous of this product, and it just so happens that same expert will soon be taking advantage of my extraordinarily comfortable and quite fairly priced sofa. This expert just so happens to favor carp fishing too. Even the newbies worship this guy, and I suspect I can trade some of the body material for smothered burritos and a few cold ones.

I now scratch my head.

Should I continue trout fishing with light lines and single dries, or would tossing some streamers with a 200 grain line curry favor with the old crowd? Would that add to the positive rays obviously cast upon me? What would happen if I devoted the rest of my life to catching carp instead? Maybe just with dry flies? I wonder if excursions for largemouths count as brownlining.

I could give up fly-fishing, sell all my worldly possessions, made up primarily of some well used rods and reels, a few hundred thousand flies, and a [conspicuously] unevenly groomed collie dog, then join a monastery…

…or maybe I should just start charging for the sofa time, payable in Macallan Fine & Rare. That’s good karma, isn’t it?

MG signing off (to contemplate that which is incomprehensible, or just plain confusing)

They just never learn…via the WSJ:

General Motors Co. said Thursday it will acquire auto-finance company AmeriCredit Corp. in a $3.5 billion deal aimed at increasing availability of vehicle loans and leases.

Good idea!

GM sees the acquisition as a way to drive up sales, which is critical as the company plans a return to the public stock markets as soon as this fall.

Starting to smell funny. Pump and dump?

Auto companies use finance arms to make credit available to boost sales of cars and trucks. Without a finance arm, GM has said it hasn’t been able to reach as many customers with subpar credit scores with lease deals and financing.

There we go…more subprime loans!

In summary the plan is to close the AmeriCredit deal, lend a bunch of money for auto purchases to people who really can’t pay the money back, then shove the resulting shit pile into the public markets.

Can you say Fannie and Freddie?

Note the small droplets of water (on the window, dumbass, not the cans)…

What were you expecting…a “hero shot”?

MG signing off (waiting for afternoon clouds to roll in)

According to FFRS (Fly-fishing Report Standards) Section 8614, all weblog-based fly-fishing reports must contain the following:

1) A brief introduction with dates, times, and people participating on the trip;

2) Details of waters fished, and flies used, including accurate data regarding flows and temperature, and fly color and size;

3) Use of simile and metaphor to draw the reader into the experience;

4) Descriptions of fish caught, including breed, size (length and girth measurements), and general appearance;

5) “Hero shot” photos;

6) Use of the words slaughter, marauder, or killing should be avoided whenever possible;

7) “Smack talking” should also be avoided so as to not alienate the reader.

You got all that? Ok, here we go…

The Report

I fished four waters this last weekend – a big tailwater, a small freestone, a large freestone, and a private pond. You probably didn’t, and I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you either.

I provided a little advice here and there, and everyone I was with caught fish. I, however, beat the living crap out of fish. We fished big stuff down low, small stuff down low, double dries, and dry droppers. I crushed fish no matter the technique.

I got a few pictures of compadres, but no hero shots. Many of the fish were too fricken big to hold out for the camera, and since I fished a noodle of a rod the whole time the fights were extended – I pretty much unhooked, revived and released using FFRS designated “ASAP” guidelines. I’ve got a number of witnesses to the events, but in some cases they had to sign confidentiality agreements ahead of time – so they may or may not choose to validate my summary. But, we all had a great time – that point is undeniable.

MG signing off (to conform to specifications)

It’s bigger! It’s better! It’s a tournament for the ages! It’s Carp Slam ’10!

Coming to you straight from the e. Coli, arsenic, selenium and ammonia laden waters of the urban South Platte River*, Carp Slam is pure adrenaline, but not without a splash of irony. You wade these “contaminated” waters, supposedly too caustic for any living creature to inhabit, chasing the wiliest game fish on the planet…the common carp?

Yes, carp might be the toughest fish to hook on a fly, but that’s actually when the fun begins. Despite the FUD, these fish thrive in the urban waters, and can grow to 40 pounds or more. They’ve adapted to low oxygen environments, regulating their own body’s systems with such astounding efficiency that you can actually leave one on the bank for ten minutes plus. When you drop it back in the river it simply swims away. They run like freight trains, and are responsible for more broken fly rods than any other fish save tarpon and marlin.

Want to prove you’re the best of the best? Chase carp during Carp Slam ’10! It’s a two day event this year, with the infamous Pro-Am occurring Saturday, August 21st, and a new open format happening the next day. With big swinging stick sponsors, prize money is now into four digits for the winners.

But the best part about Carp Slam is this: money raised from the event is being used to clean up that river, including but not limited to getting rid of the contaminants that otherwise inhibit the introduction of even more species to the waterway!

Full details come after the jump.

MG signing off (to pay a visit to the doctor before it’s too late)

Read more »

I’m not sure whether it was the lack of video game consoles, the un-structured playtime (i.e. playdate what?) or the fact that Al Gore hadn’t yet taken the initiative in creating the internet, but when I was young we spent most of our free time outside. Fishing was very, very high on the list of activities. It presented challenge, competition, and a harmless direction for the expenditure of allowance dollars. No adult types asked any questions.

There is no doubt in my mind that it stuck. I still fish every chance I get, albeit only with fly gear now. That, in turn, has led to my looking at the household budget with flies and lines at the top of the non-discretionary list. Nobody is asking any question, still. And while I don’t have children of my own (a debate on that particular point may well lean towards the general benefit to mankind of not having my progeny walking the Earth after I’m gone), most of my friends do. Those friends, for the most part, fish as well, and many of them are already getting their kids started.

Remember these little tykes? They’re not only fishing – they’re getting publicized (see here and here)! Those boys are six and four, respectively, and I doubt their barely two-year old sister is far behind. Pete McDonald’s little gal is out on the boat, and her favorite word is “fishy”! My personal fly tying instructor David Luna has been taking his boy out fishing too. Little Diego is 3 1/2 years old, and I’ve heard he can already outcast me. I love it.

I’ve got a point here, but I just can seem to get to it. Oh yea…get them started fishing! And the younger the better! They’ll be happier, healthier, more full of wonder. Teach them about catch and release – they’ll quickly grasp the idea of conservation that way – kill only what you plan on eating. And show them how to cook fish too. (Editor’s quick-note: Don’t ever engage in cooking a trout, wrapped in bacon, in the Desolation Wilderness, when there’s a bear alert on. Trust me on this one.)

You don’t need expensive equipment, and you certainly don’t need to start off fly fishing on day one either (goodness knows I don’t need the competition). Just get them out there, and do brag about the fun. Fishy Kid, an organization created by two very fishy (in a good way) dads to promote the idea, is running their Three Months of Summer Fishing Contest right now. That’s as good a place as any to show off what your kids are doing with a rod n’ reel in hand, and they might even win some sweet gear to boot.

MG signing off (still full of wonder, just with a never-dwindling supply of smack-talking capability)

Yesterday morning I deleted Twitter for Blackberry from my phone. This follows elimination of the Facebook application a few weeks back. I do not have nitpicks against either software – both worked just fine for their intended purpose. I won’t denounce others’ use of this software, or any like it, either. This is a personal choice, based on trial and error, and reason.

When I’m away from my desk I’m usually doing one of the following: fly-fishing, driving, walking the dog, reading, sleeping, eating, or any number of other things that are either escapes from the daily grind or require my utmost concentration (i.e. the fishing). These activities are not particular conducive to mobile phone use in general, let alone receiving and sending updates from social networks.

Further, I originally tested these apps based on recommendation of a friend – one who uses an iPhone. This person’s original premise was it was great to have these social applications available when out. This was particularly the case if and when you were carousing about town and wanted an easy way to let your friends know where you were so they could join you. I hold this person in high regard, but they’ve since moved to a homestead in the middle of nowhere to, uh, be alone. So much for that theory.

Finally, I thank everyone who’s followed or friend-ed me on Twitter and Facebook. I appreciate the fact that you’re interested in what I’m up to, but I don’t think you want (or need) to know what I’m doing every moment of the day.

I’m much more interested in what you are doing – and what you have to say – anyway. It’s just that I can’t really listen when I’m behind the wheel.

MG signing off (to shut up and pay attention, except when casting)

I’m driving north on Colorado Blvd. when the phone rings. I reach into my pocket and think I’ve got a crumpled up bar receipt in there – it turns out to be a mousie fly pattern, one I tried on bass at least a week ago. “These shorts went through the wash yesterday,” I think to myself. Yet the deer hair is unscathed, and I tied it myself. Then I push the answer button: “Hey…I just won the Powerball, and I want to share half the winnings with you!”

My evening would get even better – the copy of The Alaska Chronicles I ordered a few days prior had just arrived. It winds up taking under seven hours to complete the read. One trip to the liquor store once I hit the pictures – The Ocean playing on the radio during the trip there, and Lunatic Fringe blared on the way back. I must get home to those pages, but in between a decision to make: does this work require cheap beer, or a cheap wine? At less that $20 for three liters, boxed white it is.

At 11pm, snoring dogs huddled under my feet and the compelling urge to fill up the glass again, I find it fitting to address this compilation directly…

An Open Letter to author Miles Nolte

Dear Miles,

First, I hope this letter finds you, and finds you well. Guiding again this season? Or off to graduate school? Whatever makes you happy – where there’s a will there’s a way.

It is difficult to explain how enthralled I was by The Alaska Chronicles, other to say I had to absorb it cover to cover in one single evening. During the adventure I gathered supplies and hunkered down, one phone ring the only disturbance. Said call was from a dear friend, a fly fishing guide – he’s getting married soon and wanted to confirm my attendance at the pre-party. “Of course I’m going to be there.” But right now I had to get back to Alaska.

I must hereby inform you that your book will be passed on to that fishy soul, pitched as a pre-packaged lesson in perseverance and fortitude – while I’d rather keep your work in my own collection, I must now share it. As you so eloquently stated, success is a matter of both knowledge and skill, and I am now convinced there must be a symbiotic relationship between the two. The Alaska Chronicles should be required reading for both guides and clients venturing into the Alaskan experience, or setting forth into any water together for that matter. Attitude is the last ingredient in the formula – those that are fun to be with on the water make for the best days, no doubt. Maybe this is why your finest hours always wind up being those when and where you are fishing with your friends, regardless of the landed outcome.

Lastly, with the understanding that much of what you wrote was consumed by your colleagues as it happened, I can only say I wish I had been there. But the book is certainly one hell of a consolation prize.

Kindest regards…

MG signing off (to weasel my way into The Drake forum?)

It was the beer that made Milwaukee famous, and that which was smuggled from the fridge for inclusion in fishing outings circa junior high. Then it disappeared from the shelves. Now Guinness, the beer that made Ireland famous – at least in the minds of Florida rednecks, of which I am a proud alumnus – seems headed down the same path.

Zak Avery speaketh…

So why would such an icon appear to be losing its foothold in the market? There’s no doubt that, as a nation, our drinking habits have changed radically over the last decade …while it’s easy to recruit new drinker to sweeter drinks, it’s another thing to recruit them to something that looks like it will taste like the darkest corner of an old man’s beer cellar.

When Mr. Avery says “nation” he means Great Britain. Still, say it isn’t so! I wouldn’t be able to work, or play, if Guinness was no more.

Of course, Schlitz is coming back, thanks in no small part to microbrew grunge match champion…Pabst Blue Ribbon. Maybe the world’s tastiest cholesterol medication just needs some new marketing zing.

MG signing off (to find the kind of hope a politician could never convince me existed)